The Stranger at My Door
by shizuke
Summary: "Have you seen the new neighbour, Vernon? His name is Malfoy," said Petunia with pursed lips. "Apparently, he has a Ferrari." AU, Harry/Draco
1. Chapter 1

**The Stranger at My Door**

**23 March 2009**

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A week ago, a man moved into the empty house on Privet Drive. It was two houses away from the Dursleys and more than two hundred kilometers away from his previous home, according to Aunt Petunia. She speared her broccoli rather viciously during dinner one day and said with pursed lips, "You should see his car, Vernon. He's brought in the latest Ferrari. Apparently from where he came, everyone in the neighbourhood had one."

Since they first moved to Privet Drive, the Dursleys has always taken the coveted seat of 'most privileged' in the neighbourhood. With Vernon being a director to his own firm, he could afford certain luxuries the other neighbours couldn't, like the new plasma television, which everyone noticed through the living room windows.

But here came a man who was obviously much wealthier than everyone else; a man who could afford a Ferrari just because his ex-neighbours had one. The Dursleys resented him.

The mention of the luxurious car made Vernon harrumph with displeasure. He grunted that the Ferrari's loud engines would disturb the peace of the neighbourhood.

Harry found it terribly funny that although his relatives clearly disliked the man, they had invited him over for dinner tonight because "that was everyone else was doing" to welcome him to Privet Drive. What wasn't funny was that they had left the cleaning of the entire house to him.

"Not one speck of dust is to be found in this house. You hear me?" his aunt had threatened this morning, after thrusting the broom and mop into his weak 10-year old arms. "We can't have that snobbish man looking down on us just because our house is not spick and span. No sirree."

It was now six in the evening. The Dursleys were expecting their guest in one hour and the house was as clean as it would ever be. Harry leant against the wall, sweating in buckets and tired beyond memory. Petunia slapped him on the head, screeching that he was leaving his stink in the corridor. "Get into the cupboard and stay there!" she snarled.

"But I -"

"Now!"

Harry knew full well that the Dursleys were below rewarding him for any sort of effort on their behalf. But at the very least, he thought they would let him have something to eat for cleaning their junk the whole day. Clearing out Dudley's stuff would make even the hardiest maid cry. Harry sighed, entering his cupboard but before he could even close the door, he heard a screech so shrill it made the hair on the back of his neck stand.

Vernon came stumbling into the kitchen with shaving cream sliding down his neck. "What is it? What is it?" he panicked. Harry noticed that his uncle's hair was shinier than usual and was plastered to the side of his head like he covered his comb with glue before using it. A vain effort to look more presentable.

"Dessert!" hollered Petunia. "I completely forgot about it! I meant to pick up pudding at the confectionary today but it would be closed by now!"

Vernon let out a sigh of distress as he scratched his chin. Harry wasn't sure if he should laugh or not. He rarely ever saw his relatives in such anguish and when they were, it certainly wasn't over dessert. Their new neighbour must've made quite the impression on them if impressing him meant so much to them.

"Oh wait! What about Dudley's cupcakes? It was for his lunch tomorrow but..." Petunia dived towards the fridge while Vernon nodded enthusiastically. Yes, yes. Cupcakes will do. Better cupcakes than nothing at all. Their neighbour might think that they didn't have enough money for dessert! "Where are they? Where are the cupcakes?"

"Eh? The cupcakes?" said Dudley, thumping down the stairs in a ridiculous penguin suit that made Harry dive into his cupboard so that nobody would see him shaking with laughter. "I already ate those. Weren't they for me?"

Harry remained in his cupboard so that his aunt wouldn't get any weird ideas pertaining to him in her delirium; like make him go door to door, asking their neigbours if they had any dessert to spare for their dinner. Fortunately for him, the chaos halted for a while when the doorbell rang.

"It's him!" hissed Petunia in panic. "Vernon, get the door."

"I can't!" replied her husband, pointing to the shaving cream on his chin. "I'm not ready yet! You get it!"

Petunia wrung her hands. "I'm not dressed properly yet! Dudley, get the door!" she wailed before running up to get changed. But Dudley, who didn't feel like being bossed around, pulled open the door of Harry's cupboard and said, "You get it, cousin."

"But -"

"I'm going to the kitchen."

"Dudley, I -"

The doorbell rang again.

"Mom's not going to like it if she knew you kept our guest waiting on the porch."

Dudley disappeared into the kitchen before Harry could properly explain that Petunia wouldn't want their esteemed neighbour - or anyone else for that matter - seeing him in this state: sweaty and filthy. Left with no choice however, Harry sighed and opened the door.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Harry said politely, "but you caught us off guard. We weren't expecting you just yet." Harry looked at the man's shoes, afraid that if he looked up, he would be punished for acting insolent. The man was wearing loafers. Expensive leather ones. "Come in."

But the man remained on the porch in his expensive shoes and tailored pants. He stood for the longest moment before getting on his knees and lowering his head so he could get a good look at Harry. Harry blinked, wide eyes not comprehending. He saw a strong nose, blue eyes and bright blond hair, swept back across the head. He saw a soft smile and was surprised, because no one in this neighbourhood had ever smiled like that at him before.

For the first time, he met his new neighbour and realised that the other man was devastatingly good-looking. The man looked him in the eye and breathed, "It's you."

When Petunia came down in her salmon pink cocktail dress, she nearly shrieked when she saw the new neighbour hugging her sweat-soaked nephew. "Oh my -! Mr. Malfoy! What are you doing out on the porch! Please come in!" she said in a high pitch that belied her shock.

The man released Harry and wrinkled his nose. "You stink. What on earth have you been doing?"

Harry just stood there dumfounded. _You just hugged me, what do you think YOU'RE doing?_ But he kept his mouth shut and closed the door dutifully after the man stepped in. He saw his aunt greet the man almost too politely but from the corner of her eye, she glared at him.

_I will deal with you later_, was her silent message. _Get in the cupboard._

"Harry, where are you going? Are you not joining us for dinner?" asked the blond man. He raised a confused eyebrow. "Were you on your way into the cupboard?"

Before Harry could say anything, Petunia stepped in. "No, no, of course not. Well, you see, my nephew isn't feeling very well today. So he can't join us, I'm afraid."

The man cast a discerning eye over Petunia, whose smile became even more plastic. "Is that so? Get well soon then, Harry."

Petunia shooed Harry up to Dudley's second room as both Vernon and Dudley came down the stairs and greeted their guest. Harry ascended the stairs, keeping his eye on the blond man called Malfoy. And just before he disappeared into the second floor, he was one hundred percent sure that Malfoy had raised his blue eyes and smirked.

"Mrs. Dursley," Harry heard him say. "Your house is immaculate."

* * *

=0=

His name was Draco Malfoy. No one knew exactly where he came from but the neighbourhood gossipmongers speculated that he probably came from the west. Exeter, maybe?

Nobody knew why he decided to move to a quiet place like Surrey and into a house that he claimed was seven times smaller than his previous home. Yet there he was, looking rather out of place amongst the suburban, assuming folk of Privet Drive.

No one really knew what to make of their new neighbour, who was really too good to be true. Not only was he filthy rich, but he had dashing good looks and a pristine house. It was strange since no one's ever seen him doing housework or employ anyone to do it. But because he had so many good qualities to him, the people of Privet Drive allowed him a few oddities, like the peacock that was running over his perfect lawn.

Harry loved that peacock. No one else in Privet Drive had pets - aside from some boring fish and the rare terrapin (Mrs. Figgs's cats don't count) - so Harry took a quick liking to the excitable bird. As a rule, Harry wasn't allowed to associate himself with the neighbours, aside from the cat lady Arabella Figg, who was currently on a holiday at the Bahamas. With human companionship out of the question, Harry resorted to the bird to relieve his boredom whenever Vernon and Petunia decided to let him out of the house.

Of course, Harry never entered Malfoy's lawn. He would never hear the end of it from Petunia if he dared trespass. He usually dangled his hand over the picket and waited for Coo the peacock to come over and demand a pat on the head.

Coo, Harry decided, was like him. A freak. Like Harry, Coo could do things that didn't have an explanation. Sometimes, when Coo ran around, mushrooms would sprout from the ground where his feet had been. Harry would like to believe that it was magic. He liked to believe that he too was capable of magic. That was why his hair kept growing back no matter how many times his aunt cut it. A pathetic proof but there you go.

He was kneeling on the pavement patting Coo one day when Mr. Malfoy approached him. He patted Harry on the shoulder surprising the boy so much, Harry hit Coo, which led to the peacock nipping his hand hard.

"Mr. Malfoy! I'm so sorry! I didn't hear your car coming..." Harry trailed off. There was no car. The Ferrari was missing. So how did Mr. Malfoy arrive home? He didn't walk, did he?

Mr. Malfoy didn't bother answering him. He grabbed Harry by the arm and lifted him to his feet. "Come in. I'll see what I can do about that wound of yours. It's bleeding. Shame on you, Coo."

The peacock bowed its head and nudged at Harry in apology.

"It's okay, Coo," assured Harry as he hurried after Mr. Malfoy into the house. Petunia was going to have his head for this but he didn't feel like turning down Mr. Malfoy's kindness.

It's been three days since Mr. Malfoy came over for dinner. Much to Petunia's relief, he didn't say anything about the lack of dessert. But he did mention that Dudley reminded him of his pet whale back home. Mr. Malfoy became Harry's hero after that. It was nice to know that someone else agreed that Dudley was too fat to be healthy.

Still, Harry stood by his opinion that this blond man was rather strange. Harry may not be an expert in social norms, but people just don't go hugging one another on their first meeting, did they? And funniest of all, Harry didn't even remember telling Mr. Malfoy his name.

Harry followed Mr. Malfoy into his sitting room where the blond man patted the space next to him on the sofa. Harry sat next to him obediently, taking care not to bleed on the carpet. Mr. Malfoy took out a stick of wood and upon noticing Harry's look of confusion, explained that he was a wizard. He promptly healed the wound on Harry's hand and put away his wand.

_Maybe I'm dreaming_, thought Harry. _Magical sticks of wood definitely belong in the same dream as flying motorcycles._

"What time is you aunt and uncle expecting you home?" asked Mr. Malfoy.

"Not for another two hours," replied Harry.

He saw Mr. Malfoy run a hand through his hair and sigh. He frowned. Did he do something to upset the other man? "You know," said Mr. Malfoy, his head propped up by the arm on his knee, "I've always heard that your life before Hogwarts was terrible. I just didn't expect it to be this bad."

Harry blinked. What? Hogwarts? What was that? Was that Mr. Malfoy's business firm?

Mr. Malfoy chuckled to himself. "Never mind. Would you like to watch some television? I just got myself a set recently. Nothing but Muggle channels, I'm afraid. Completely rubbish but some of your folk seem to enjoy it."

Harry didn't completely comprehend what Mr. Malfoy said but he nodded anyway. He never got the chance to watch television when the Dursleys were around, so why not? Mr. Malfoy switched on the set for him and conjured some drinks out of thin air. Harry watched in amazement as Mr. Malfoy poured some yellow liquid from his stick of wood into two glasses. "Butterbeer. I hope you don't mind."

"How do you do that?" asked the ebony-haired child rather bluntly.

"It's not hard," said Mr. Malfoy. "First, you need a wand." He lifted his stick of wood. "And then you have to go to Hogwarts, where witches and wizards will tell you how to use magic. Stuff like this is a piece of cake," he assured.

"A wand," repeated Harry. "Will any stick of wood do?"

Mr. Malfoy laughed. "No. You need to buy one. Not everyone can make wands from a stick of wood. It requires skill and knowledge way beyond your ten years of Muggle lifestyle."

Harry scowled. "I don't know what a Muggle is but I don't like the sound of it."

"Neither would I were I in your situation. The Muggles at your house are horrible. Were I any less mature, I would've turned them into frogs!"

Harry imagined Vernon and Petunia croaking on the dinner table and chuckled. "But make Dudley a pig!" The two of them shared a laugh, ignoring the game show that was playing on the television screen. They chatted a while, mostly humorous small talk. When Harry fell silent, Mr. Malfoy switched off the television set but said nothing. "Why are you so nice to me?" Harry wondered aloud.

Mr. Malfoy smiled at him. "I think you better leave. It's getting late."

Harry hopped off the sofa and bade Mr. Malfoy goodbye. Within the span of an hour, Mr. Malfoy had grown larger in Harry's eyes. But so has the mystery surrounding him. Although they talked, Harry had learnt nothing important about him. Although Mr. Malfoy showed him magic and explained about the wand, he refused to say anything more about it.

Harry patted Coo on the head and took off for Number 4. He looked back and saw Mr. Malfoy waving at him from the window.

The next morning, Harry saw Mr. Malfoy sitting in the Dursley's kitchen, drinking coffee and dressed to go out. He saw Harry emerge from the cupboard under the stairs in his pajamas, which consisted of a shirt so big, one side of the collar slipped over, exposing a bare shoulder. Mr. Malfoy leaned over for a better look, eyes blinking wide. "Harry, were you sleeping in _there_?"

Petunia's fake shrill laughter made both Mr. Malfoy and Harry shudder. "Boys," she laughed. "They always like a little bit of adventure. It's how I let Harry have his little bit of fun."

_Yeah, right_. Harry shuffled into the kitchen when the smell of burnt eggs wafted. _You'd rather choke than let me have a little bit of fun._

"Harry," said Petunia 'happily'. Harry became afraid. His aunt's smile was too fake and showed far too many teeth. "Mr. Malfoy is going into London today and has kindly invited you to go along with him. Of course, he would much rather take Dudley but Diddykins already has a play date with his friends. You know how popular he is. So I want you to go upstairs, take a bath and come back down as quickly as possible. Mr. Malfoy has been waiting for half an hour for you to wake up, you know. I would've woken you up but Mr. Malfoy is such a gentleman that he said I should let you sleep in since it's a Saturday-"

Harry trudged up the stairs before Petunia finished rambling. No doubt he would get a lashing later for his impertinence but he didn't really care at the moment. He was going to London! With Mr. Malfoy!

* * *

=0=

"Are you sure you want to take Harry, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Petunia, more than a little bit worried. "He really is a rather ill-mannered child, much as I regret to say."

She stopped talking when Mr. Malfoy fixed his gaze on her. His eyes were blazing, though she wasn't quite sure why. He uncrossed his arms. "Yes, I am sure, Mrs. Dursley," he said, barely able to contain the scathing remark on the tip of his tongue. "I'm sure Harry would make a most delightful companion."

He had spent years researching the method and procedure of the spell. He had come back so many years. He had risked everything so that he could see Harry Potter again. He felt like cursing the woman into a toad but as the tiny 10-year old boy hopped down the stairs in his best clothes - two sizes too big for him and colours that had faded beyond recognition - Mr. Malfoy stood up and smiled brilliantly.

"Let's go, Harry."

_I'll take you far, far away where no one can hurt you._

* * *

_To be continued.._


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: blah blah blah.

* * *

**Into London (a.k.a. The Happy Times)**

**15 April 2009**

**edited 16 April 2009**

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**edit: Sorry to bother those who have already read this chapter but I made some changes throughout the chapter and additions towards the end because I just didn't really like how the original second chapter turned out. To all, thank you for taking your time to read this.**

* * *

London was as spectacular as Harry remembered it. Streets filled with cars, shops that sold everything you could ever want, people who were in a constant rush to be somewhere else and noise everywhere. It contrasted starkly with Surrey, where nothing every happened.

Harry soaked in the difference in atmosphere happily as Mr. Malfoy led the way, pointing out things of interest as they went. "Never buy shoes from that man - he's a cheat and a pervert. That shop stocks the most luxurious chocolates in all of London. Oh look, a stray. What are you doing, Harry? Don't go near it! RUN!" The duo made quite a comedic sight as they ran over pavements, in and out of open cafes and attracted a crowd of onlookers until a policeman took pity on them and chased the black dog away. When they decided that it was safe, Harry and Mr. Malfoy slid down the lamppost.

Mr. Malfoy dusted his pants and with a note of finality, said, "I think that's enough of Muggle London for today."

The Leaky Cauldron was snuggled between a large CD store and a hamburger shop and looked quite out of place with its old 18th century exterior, which did nothing to belie the warmness of the atmosphere inside. Cheerful laughter blanketed the small establishment, where oddly-clad people busied themselves with drinks and news.

"That man is Tom," said Mr. Malfoy, pointing at the toothless bartender, who was currently engaged in conversation with a one-eyed witch."He's a trustworthy old chap. You can always come to him if you need a place for the night or a drink to warm your throat. He knows better to ask questions later. Come along now."

Harry didn't know why Mr. Malfoy was leading him to the back yard, where there was nothing but a brick wall and a dustbin. He wondered if Mr. Malfoy had been searching for the loo. By the time he looked up, the blond had pocketed his wand and the bricks were starting to magically part and reveal an entrance.

"This is Diagon Alley." Mr. Malfoy smiled beatifically at the hustle and bustle of the busy street, eyes dancing across stores he had not visited for a long time. "This is the go-to place for all your wizarding needs." He proceeded to give Harry the grand tour: Ollivanders, Madam Malkin's Robes, Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, Clarkstone Portraits, Magical Menagerie, the apothecary and so on.

Outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry stared at the broom in the display window and wondered if like his Aunt Petunia, wizards and witches were fond of cleaning too. "That's for flying," explained Mr. Malfoy, who enjoyed the wide-eyed look of amazement on the young boy's face. "Wizards use brooms for traveling short distances and playing Quidditch. It's our sport."

"What's it like? Can I play?"

"You'll probably get a chance to when you enter Hogwarts."

There was that name again. Hogwarts. Harry didn't quite remember if Mr. Malfoy had already told him what it was. Wasn't it the company Mr. Malfoy ran himself? That meant that Mr. Malfoy expected Harry to join him someday, didn't it? That thought made Harry degrees happier as the older man led him into Flourish and Blotts, a shop he claimed was his favourite. "If you want to know more about the magical world, Harry, here is where you can do so."

Harry stared adoringly at Mr. Malfoy as the blue-eyed man piled _Olde Forgotten Spells, Dragons of Ireland _and _Wizard Pirates of the 17th Century _into his arms before scurrying to find other interesting titles. There was an unspoken joy in Mr. Malfoy's eyes that Harry only saw when the other man was surrounded by tomes that promised interesting information.

It was the only time that Mr. Malfoy unintentionally ignored his young companion.

Ten-year old Harry felt a pang in his chest. He rubbed at it with his hand but it didn't go away. It was foreign, this feeling, but when Mr. Malfoy finally noticed him and smile from behind a tower of books, the uneasiness disappeared. "Harry," he said, "why don't you go take a look at the books over there?" He cocked his head at the row of shelves boasting books of magical instruction, ones which Harry would be required to purchase in future. Although he nodded and went to the shelves, Harry continued shooting looks over his shoulder at Mr. Malfoy.

Years later, Harry would lay awake in his Gryffindor four-poster bed, remembering his first trip to Diagon Alley, remembering those confusing emotions he had felt for Mr. Malfoy and realise that it had been the adult desire to possess the other man.

**[into London]**

Harry was sorry when the day came to an end on the doorstep of Number Four. Mr. Malfoy seemed very reluctant to part with him too and for that, Harry was guiltily glad. Harry only managed to prolong his time with the other man by inviting him inside. Vernon and Petunia were watching the news in the living room and barely stopped themselves from barking at Harry for returning late when they saw Mr. Malfoy smiling at them from the threshold.

"Thank you for allowing me to take Harry out today," he said. "I had a very enjoyable time with him."

The looks on Vernon and Petunia's faces said that they very much doubted it but made no comment. Mr. Malfoy continued to praise the house, echoing his admiration of its general cleanliness from his last visit. The Dursley couple took very well to the compliment and started heaping praises on Mr. Malfoy as well. Their rich neighbour, in turn, tried to find something about them to commend (which was very hard to do). The three of them were so engaged in a battle of flattery that before the Dursleys knew what had truly taken place, they had promised to lend Harry to Mr. Malfoy at least once a week to help clean his house.

The blond wizard thanked the couple most graciously and bade them a good evening. Perhaps it was childish of Harry to have grabbed Mr. Malfoy's hand before he left, but he didn't regret it because the man squeezed his hand back and looked at him so meaningfully that the pang of longing in Harry's chest quadrupled.

Harry's heart sung for the rest of the day but Vernon and Petunia remained strangely sour throughout dinner, feeling used and manipulated.

**[into London]**

It happened about a month after Harry started going over to 'clean' Mr. Malfoy's house once a week. Harry had been packing his things and getting ready to go home after school when several kids from the upper forms cornered him and brought him to the empty playground.

Harry had seen this coming. He would've been stupid not to. It had been fairly obvious that he always returned from Mr. Malfoy's house distinctively happy and everyone agreed that Harry was lucky to be the blond man's friend. Of course, Dudley could stand it. All his life, he had gotten better things than Harry. He didn't want this to be any different.

Harry turned his head just in time to avoid the fist from connecting with his left eye. Instead, his temple received the blow and the impact sent him hurtling onto the asphalt. He glared blearily at his cousin. Although Dudley was plenty large for his age, he looked tiny in comparison to the older bullies, whose help he had enlisted to beat the crap out of Harry. The young wizard found himself feeling sorry for Dudley. It wasn't really his fault. It was his parents who were rotten.

One of the big bullies kicked Harry in the stomach, making him pass out. When he woke up, the playground was empty. The walk home was difficult and painful. He couldn't recall ever feeling this beaten up. He walked up the steps of Number Four, encountered Petunia, who took in his miserable appearance, gave him toast and shut him in the cupboard.

_At least she didn't throw me out_, Harry thought mirthlessly as he chewed on the bread. He couldn't go to school the next day because the bruises on his body would raise some interesting questions. Sometime around midday, Petunia gave him some smelly ointment and asked him to leave the house because she didn't want him stinking up the walls.

"Don't you dare say a word about Dudley," threatened the horse-faced woman before he departed, "or it's one week without food."

Harry passively wondered if he'll make it till thirteen at the rate he was going. He wandered about Privet Drive aimlessly, bypassing the empty house of Arabella Figg, who was still on holiday. Eventually his feet led him to Mr. Malfoy's house. Much to Harry's disappointment, Coo was nowhere in sight. He nearly fell over the picket fence in surprise when he felt Mr. Malfoy's warm hands grasping his shoulders. "Mr. Malfoy!" he exclaimed. Once again, he hadn't heard the other wizard approaching.

There was an anguished look on Mr. Malfoy's face that made Harry's heart tear itself into pieces. "Look at you," he whispered. Harry wished he wouldn't. He tried not to flinch when Mr. Malfoy fingered the edges of the fist-shaped bruise on his cheek. "Who did this to you?"

Harry didn't say anything because he wasn't supposed to. The blond didn't push him and instead brought Harry into his house to mend him with magic. It felt like deja vu. He left some of Harry's bruises as they were so the Dursley's wouldn't get suspicious but healed enough so that Harry didn't grimace every time he moved.

Ever since that incident, Harry ran faster from the bullies and tried harder not to get hurt because he didn't ever want to see Mr. Malfoy look that sad on his behalf ever again. Strangely enough, Harry never saw those older bullies again. He didn't ask what happened to them but had the odd feeling that Mr. Malfoy knew.

Two weeks after he was beaten up, Harry entered Mr. Malfoy's house and caught him engrossed in his copy of _Most Potente Aphrodisiacs_. Not wanting to disturb him, Harry went outside to play with Coo, who was running around the garden, leaving a trail of begonias in his wake. After a short tussle, Coo ran over him and Harry screamed in fright when the pink flowers started sprouting on his head. Mr. Malfoy came charging outside, wand at the ready and pale-faced. When he discovered a distraught-looking Harry with begonias growing out of his head, he collapsed in a fit of laughter.

Insisting that it wasn't funny, Harry tried to punish the man for laughing by tickling him. However, the older man gathered the boy into his arms and turned the tables on poor Harry. The two rolled around in the grass- Mr. Malfoy tickling Harry's sides as Harry tried unsuccessfully to kick the man off him. Night was fast approaching and darkness crept up all around them. Many evil things happened in the dark. Harry knew because he sometimes read the newspapers before Vernon snatched them away. Rapes, theft, kidnapping; the list went on.

Harry snuck closer to Mr. Malfoy as if the shadows could steal him away if he wasn't careful. The man put an arm around Harry and lifted his wand. "_Lumos_," he chanted softly and the tip of his wand glowed brightly. "This is a useful spell for you to remember, Harry. When you get a wand of your own, this spell will help you light ip the dark wherever you go."

"Are you trying to tell me something, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Harry teasingly.

The hand on Harry's shoulder stiffened ever so slightly. "Yes."

Eventually, the street lights came on and Mr. Malfoy dispelled the charm on his wand. "There will be many times in the future when I will lose my way and make bad decisions. I need you to be my guiding light so I will not fall," he said and sent Harry home.

_Lumos. Lumos. Lumos._

Harry repeated the spell in his head so he wouldn't forget it anytime soon. He made sure to write it on a piece of paper and keep it in his cupboard. Mr. Malfoy had said something meaningful today. But Harry couldn't quite understand why. Nonetheless, "I will never leave you, Mr. Malfoy," Harry had promised before he left the other man. It was only later, much later, when Harry realised that Mr. Malfoy didn't return the sentiment.

**[into London]**

It was fun discovering the whole new world of magic with Mr. Malfoy. The man knew everything and had answers to any question Harry cared to ask. But there were times when Mr. Malfoy would bite his lip, put on a painful smile and ruffled his hair to avoid answering.

One such time was when Harry rediscovered Clarkstone Portraits along Diagon Alley and wanted to know how Mr. Clarkstone made the subjects in his portraits move as if they were alive. Mr. Malfoy looked at the store with such detached regret that Harry didn't have the heart to push for answers.

The blond smiled painfully, ruffled his hair and the two of them continued down Diagon Alley. Despite spending so much time with the other man, Harry still didn't know a lot about Mr. Malfoy. He rarely ever spoke about his past and never would've mentioned his family had they not stumbled into the long-haired figure who had crossed their paths coming out of Knockturn Alley.

Knockturn Alley was a place Mr. Malfoy had advised Harry not to venture into. "I won't say you shouldn't ever go in there because there might be some artifacts you need in future that can only be found in Knockturn. But you shouldn't trust anyone you meet there."

That was why Harry automatically distrusted the long-haired man. He had the same blond hair as Mr. Malfoy, but his had more silver in it, and there was a stiffness in his jaw that made him look disagreeable. The man saw Mr. Malfoy, stopped in his tracks and stared at him as if trying to place a name to his face. Mr. Malfoy broke the silence by bowing his head slightly in greeting and addressing the other man, "Lucius."

The long-haired man returned the bow in acknowledgement and quickly walked away before he could be caught in the embarrassing situation of not remembering an acquaintance who had been familiar enough to call him by his given name.

"Who is that man?" asked Harry once the long-haired man was out of hearing range.

Mr. Malfoy smiled and said, "He's family," but didn't bother to explain how he was related to the man Harry would one day come to know as Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater and the father of a prick.

**[into London] - What Mr. Malfoy thought.**

Imagine a snow globe that contained a miniature replica of London and Diagon Alley. Now imagine that the hundreds of tiny white 'snowflakes' were actually the hundreds of gorgeous memories between Harry and Mr. Malfoy in the one year that they have known each other. At the bottom of the snow globe was an engraving of Mr. Malfoy's name, so the object belonged to him and him alone.

Under Mr. Malfoy's name was another word: _paradise_.

That morning, his copy of _Potions You Should Never Try to Brew_ came in the mail. He paid the owl which had delivered it to him and slowly unwrapped the brown parcel lovingly - the same way he treated all his books. He perused the page of contents leisurely over his morning cup of coffee, accompanied with a breakfast scone, and ticked in his head the few potions he planned to try in his free time.

After which, he set the book aside and picked up _Crossing Borders: One Wizard's Journey_, a travelogue written by famed magizoologist, Newt Scamander, chronicling his adventures as he globe-trotted through Europe, South America, Africa and Asia in an unprecedented attempt to index the magical creatures of the world. Mr. Scamander was claiming to have come close to discovering the origins of the Dementor in the abandoned temples of Kuzco when Mr. Malfoy heard a loud scream erupt from a house down the street. He marked the page and sighed, wondering what had caused Vernon Dursley distress at such an early hour.

Did he spill coffee onto his work shirt again?

He poked his head out the window and sure enough, he saw Harry running out of Number Four amidst the chaos inside and sprinting towards his house. Harry jumped over the picket fence, trampled over his perfect garden, ignored Coo, jumped in through the open window and practically tackled him onto the floor.

_Such youthful vigour_, Mr. Malfoy thought mirthfully as he noted the ecstatic look on his friend's face. "What's going on, Harry?"

"I've finally received the letter!" cried Harry, jumping up and down on Mr. Malfoy, who try to cover his wince of pain as Newt Scamander's book dug into his back. "I'm going to Hogwarts!"

Mr. Malfoy froze.

Somewhere, someone must've heard a crack as the snow globe split in half.

**[into London]**

Ron Weasley's face was twisted in concern.

Often he had seen this expression, but never directed to him. _"Are you sure you want to do this?"_ Beside him was Hermione Granger, ashen-faced from a miscarriage, mirroring her husband's expression. _"If you do this, you'll never return."_

Draco Malfoy was grateful to them; after all these years, finally understood why Harry Potter loved them. But as compassionate as they try to be, there was one thing they didn't understand - the full extent of his regret.

"_And,_" Hermione added, "_he'll never forgive you._"

Draco smiled wistfully and nodded. He knew. "_It is lucky then that where I'll be going, I won't be needing forgiveness._"

* * *

**[next chapter: The Disappearance of Arabella Figg]**

**to be continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry for the long delay before this update but I really couldn't decide on how to make the story go in the direction I wanted. Also, I got a bit worried that it was becoming too predictable because a fair few readers made pretty accurate guesses regarding future chapters. Nevertheless, I shall try present an interesting chapter for those of you who still so kindly take an interest in this story. Thank you all for the support in reading this and more love to those who take time to leave a review. Currently unbetaed because I have no time. Sorry!

* * *

**The Disappearance of Arabella Figg**

**29 September**

* * *

"If you could have - differently - how would you?"

It was a portrait.

_"Well, I'd like it if my parents were alive. But by some unfair circumstance, they had to die so I could save the world. Made my life before Hogwarts absolutely miserable though."_

He was talking to a portrait.

_"When you were a kid, what did you want to do?"_

He was talking to a portrait of someone who was supposed to be dead.

_"Rule the world, doesn't count."_

He was talking to a portrait of a person, whose death every magical being around the world was lamenting at this very moment.

_"An apothecary? That's very like you."_

Draco Malfoy recognised the incredulity of his situation. But he was more affected by the fact that the person in this portrait had died because of him. In two weeks time, he would die again. Draco Malfoy sat in despair as the portrait continued to ramble about mundane things like the weather and Draco's philandering spouse. The verbal diarrhea continued until Draco's guilt peaked and he asked the portrait to shut up.

"What," he demanded, "do you want from me, Potter?"

* * *

Harry was worried. The heavy mood wouldn't lift. This wasn't how Harry had expected to go at all. He had thought that with news of his acceptance at Hogwarts, he would get to see Mr. Malfoy's face light up like a Christmas tree. He had anticipated Mr. Malfoy to jump to his feet like a little boy, as he was apt to do whenever he was excited about something, and conjure up two bottles of Butterbeer for them as they danced about the living room in celebration.

But right now, his friend was far from whooping with joy. He struggled to keep up his smile and his laughter sounded hollow. Harry tried to pay attention as Mr. Malfoy was rambled on about a 17th-century French pirate called Scarepone Malfoi, whom he insisted he was descended from. "He was French nobility, you know. But he was the youngest son in his family and wasn't going to inherit anything, so he bought a crew, commandeered a ship and sailed for three years before settling in Great Britain."

Harry couldn't take it any more. "Mr. Malfoy, what's wrong?"

"What do you mean, Harry?" asked the blond man with a forced chuckle. But Harry continued to stare unwaveringly until Mr. Malfoy took a shaky breath and sighed. "Were you always this perceptive, Pothead?" he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" asked Harry.

"Nothing. I just..." Mr. Malfoy's lips thinned with uneasiness. "I just never expected to like you this much. It's going to be hard...saying goodbye to you. Harder than I thought."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. Even if he did, all the words would be held back by the big lump that had gotten lodged in his throat. Mr. Malfoy slipped an arm over Harry's shoulders and pulled him close in a loose embrace. "I'm going to miss you, Harry," said Mr. Malfoy softly.

The memory of his first encounter with the older man suddenly came to Harry's mind unbidden. Mr. Malfoy had hugged him just like this. Only at the time, there had been less desperation in his grip, more joy in his eyes.

"You smell like fire," commented Harry, voice muffled against the fabric of Mr. Malfoy's shirt.

Mr. Malfoy chuckled. The first genuine one Harry heard since he announced his acceptance into Hogwarts. "Coo ate something that didn't agree with his stomach and was coughing flames earlier this morning. Do I stink that bad?" He lifted his arm to sniff himself.

"No," lied Harry. "Don't worry, Mr. Malfoy. I'll be coming back to Privet Drive during the long holidays and I'll definitely come visit," he said with a promising grin.

Mr. Malfoy returned it with a small smile and conjured up two bottles of warm Butterbeer. "To your future in Hogwarts," he said, clinking bottles with his young friend. Unbeknownst to Harry, this would be the last happy memory he was going to share with the kind, enigmatic Mr. Draco Malfoy.

* * *

**_Dear Arabella,_**

_A good day to you and your dear cats. I'm writing to you on a most peculiar note. I've received news that Harry has yet to receive his Hogwarts letter despite the five owls I have already sent to his abode. As he is only a few houses away from you, would be so kind as to find out the cause of this situation?_

**_Sincerely,_**

**_Albus Dumbledore_**

* * *

It was obvious that the Dursleys didn't know that Harry was already aware of his magical abilities. Otherwise, they wouldn't have gone to such extremes to hide Harry's Hogwarts letters. Harry hadn't read any of them but the large red seal on the thick cream envelope had been more then enough to identify his sender.

Frankly, Harry was delighted that the school was going to such extents to make sure he got his letter (stuffing envelopes in egg cartons and milk bottles and whatnot). It felt like whoever on the other side really cared and wanted him to come to Hogwarts. But when envelopes started shooting through closed windows and the clogged-up fireplace, Vernon lost his last thread of sanity.

He packed Harry and the family, and took off. Harry didn't get a chance to tell Mr. Malfoy that he was leaving Privet Drive. But as Vernon drove the car out of the driveway, he saw Mr. Malfoy out in his garden and managed a small shrug at his friend before Vernon shot away like a bullet.

As Vernon drove his family from ghost town to ghost town, Harry grew more and more annoyed by the continual torrent of complains that spewed forth from Dudley's large gob. He was sorely tempted to tell his uncle that it was pointless hiding the existence of magic from him. He only refrained from doing so because Vernon would want to know how he knew about magic and would ban Harry from seeing Mr. Malfoy once he knew.

The silent vigil lasted all the way to the deserted shack on the sea, where he spent the morning of his eleventh birthday. He blew dusty candles off a dusty cake he had drawn for himself on the floor of the shack and dreamt of a real cake with lit wax candles and Mr. Malfoy's smiling face. He was jolted out of that daydream when he heard a hard knock on the door that was as loud as a cannon.

He scrambled to his feet, destroying his dusty birthday cake, and pressed himself against the wall as the door fell off its hinges and a gargantuan man entered with a brilliant smile on his face and secrets under his coat. And one of them pertained to the parents he never knew.

"But yeh must know about yer mum and dead," the man called Hagrid said. Harry frowned as Hagrid sat opposite him and tried to explain the story he never knew. The story of a brave couple, a dark wizard and the green light that had changed Harry's life permanently. "I mean, they're famous. _You're famous._"

Everything went downhill from there.

* * *

**_Professor Dumbledore,_**

_Do not know what you are talking about. Am stuck in the Bahamas. Please help. Have been stranded here for almost a year. Cannot physically leave the country and am still trying to figure out why. Would very much like to return home. Haven't seen my cats in ages._

**_Yours,_**

**_Arabella Figg_**

* * *

For the entire day, Draco Malfoy only had anxious thoughts to keep him company. He knew this day would come; the day where everything he had built up since coming to Privet Drive would unravel. But now that that day was here, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. Technically, this was the end of his journey. He didn't know what was going to happen to him from here on out now that time and its present events were taking its natural course.

He looked back on the past few months, searching for moments of regret; of the guilt that had haunted it for ages before he had come up with this odd solution of coming back in time. He still found it, of course. But it was tempered with all those times he had made the ten-year old version of Harry laugh.

_I'm going to miss that laugh._

Harry came to his house at around eight. Ever since their encounter with Hagrid, the Dursleys were much too afraid to deal with Harry crossly. They now let Harry in and out of the house as he liked as long as he didn't get into trouble. Under normal circumstances, this would be enough reason for a celebration. But the black look on Harry's face set a different atmosphere.

The young boy walked into the living room without a hint of a smile or so much as a hello. Having predicted this, Malfoy settled in his armchair and patiently waited for Harry to explode.

"You knew about my parents, didn't you?" asked Harry after several moments of taut silence. "You knew how I got this stupid scar on my forehead. You knew everything."

Malfoy nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me?" cried Harry, raising his voice. "Did you take me for a fool?"

"No, I took you as a child," said Malfoy gently. "And to be fair, I wasn't aware that you didn't know the truth about your parents until I asked your uncle and he insisted on that stupid car crash story."

"THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY ANYTHING AFTER YOU FOUND OUT? You knew I was the Boy Who Lived, didn't you? I understand if you want to keep your secrets to yourself but why didn't you tell me you knew things about _me?_ All this time! I thought you were my friend!"

"I am!" said Malfoy earnestly.

"Friends don't lie to one another, _Draco_, if that's even your real name! You know, I met a boy at Diagon Alley today! He looks a lot like you and he even has the same name, and he says that there's no other Draco Malfoy in his family. So either he's ignorant, or you're a fraud! Tell me which!"

Malfoy tensed when he felt magic crackling in the air. Harry's anger and outrage were getting the better of him and releasing the well of magic he had not yet learned how to control. This could get dangerous. Malfoy drew out his wand and waved it across, murmuring an incantation under his breath until the strong magic slowly dissipated from the air. Although untaught, Harry could sense the difference in the atmosphere.

"What did you do?" he demanded.

"You were going to hurt me, Harry."

"I want to hurt you!"

"Harry," Malfoy tried gently, "I really don't want our last time together to be a sad one. One day, you will look back on this and realise how foolish your temper tantrum is."

"_I'm _foolish? I wasn't the one keeping secrets and telling lies! Why did you even befriend me in the first place? Was I just some novelty to you?" asked Harry, crazy with a sense of betrayal.

"No. You were a second chance," said Malfoy. "I had actually thought about telling you about the events that led to your parents' death. But then I thought it better that your early years are indeed better off without you knowing the ugly circumstances which had brought you that scar. For better or worse, I was only looking out for you."

"Why don't you just admit that you don't trust that I can handle the truth?" asked Harry angrily.

Malfoy smiled sadly. "Do you hate me, Harry?"

Yes. Yes, Harry hated the man with all his heart. He hated him for keeping the truth for him. He hated Mr. Malfoy because he had thought the world of him and had thought him incapable of any wrongdoing towards him. But then, there was also love. At the back of his head, a rational voice said wisely that the anger was only temporary. Once he got over this, he would return to loving Mr. Malfoy again. But the 10-year old pride was not willing to admit that just yet.

"No, Harry. You, of all people, must not be petered by hatred. You have a dreadful future ahead of you and a battle you cannot win with hatred in your heart." Malfoy stood up and approached Harry.

"What are you doing?" asked Harry nervously.

"I would never intentionally hurt you," said Malfoy as sincerely as he could. He placed a warm, heavy hand on Harry's shoulder, flinching slightly when Harry tried to shake him off. The boy's rejection hurt. It pained him more than he thought it would. He was sure that he would retire tonight weeping into his pillow. But for now, he kept his mask of impassivity and deigned a smile. "I am very glad for the time I had with you, Harry. They were the happiest I can remember for a long time."

"Is this a goodbye?" asked Harry, furrowing his brow. "After betraying my trust, you're sending me away."

"If I recall correctly, you're the one who's leaving me."

"I'm going to Hogwarts! You should be happy for me! You should-" Harry's tirade died on his tongue when he felt the soft pressure of lips against his forehead.

"Take care of yourself, Harry."

"Mr. Malfoy, stop this!"

Malfoy pressed the tip of his wand to Harry's temple. "_Obliviate._"

* * *

The Hogwarts Express whistled, signaling the beginning of a journey. Harry sat down in an empty compartment and smiled giddily to himself. Today was the start of a new chapter in his life. He could tell. Everything was going to be better from here on out. No more running away from bullies and ending up on the roof. No more going for days without food because he didn't clean the kitchen properly. Starting from now, he was going to have friends!

Outside his compartment, a pair of redheaded Weasley twins were making a ruckus about having met _Harry Potter_. Harry listened in good humour as their mother chided him and their youngest sister asked if she could come aboard and see him.

Harry rubbed his chest, trying to dispel the uncomfortable feeling that had settled over him this morning. It was unfamiliar, so he wasn't sure what brought it on. It felt a lot like what heartache might feel like, but he deducted that it must be nervousness, as there was nothing for him to be heartsick about. There was nothing he was going to miss in Privet Drive.

As the train started to move, Harry looked out the window. He saw a young girl with red hair, walking quickly to keep up with the train while waving tearfully. Harry smiled wistfully. He wanted to have someone to wave goodbye to too. His gaze slid from the red-haired girl, who was breaking into a run, to the man who was standing next to her squat mother.

The man stood alone in a long dark robe. He had platinum blond hair, grey eyes that were almost blue, and a face with sharp, handsome angles that turned heads. But most curious of all, he was looking at Harry.

Harry blinked in surprise, wondering if he was somehow mistaken. But the man was looking straight at him with unwavering eyes that pinned Harry to his seat.

As the train picked up speed and the man grew further away, Harry found himself pulled to his feet, not wanting to lose sight of him. He stuck his head out the window in spite of the whipping wind. In a distance, he saw the man lift his hand and wave at him. Harry waved back dumbly.

Then, the train rounded a turn and the man was no longer in sight. Harry resumed his seat, wondering who the handsome stranger was. Someone he had come across on that day in Diagon Alley perhaps? Come to think of it, he did look a lot like that arrogant boy he had met in Madam Malkin's.

The door of the compartment slid open and a redheaded boy came in with a sheepish grin. "Anyone sitting there? Everywhere else is full."

* * *

Three days later, Arabella Figg discovered that the barriers keeping her in the Bahamas had disappeared. She shouted a loud Hallelujah and wrote a letter of thanks to Dumbledore before taking the first Portkey home. But Dumbledore had nothing to do with her rescue.

The old wizard had been trying for days to lift the enchantment to no avail because he didn't know what charm had been placed on the Squib. The enchantment faded away because Mr. Malfoy had left Privet Drive, never to be seen in that neighbourhood ever again.

However, he did leave his Ferrari to Arabella in apology. _At least_, he wrote in a note to her, _I made sure to keep your cats alive._

* * *

**Next chapter: The Growing Years of Harry Potter**

**In Hogwarts, Harry would find the answers to the stranger in his past.**

**

* * *

**

**_To be continued..._**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer** Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. Some of the sentences here also belong to JK Rowling, lol.

**WARNING** This chapter may read like the retelling of book one, but I tried my best to weave my own story into it. I hope you'll put up with it, hehe.

**A/N** In case you were worried, I won't be re-chronicling Harry's adventures one book per chapter, like I did with this one. I just wanted to build a foundation between our two boys before moving on with the story. Oh, and I only gave this a quick once-over, so any spelling or grammatical error, feel free to slam it in.

* * *

**The Growing Years of Harry Potter**

**29 July 2010**

* * *

"Rise and shine, Harry!"

Harry cringed as his blanket of warm comfort was ripped off his body, exposing him to the elements of the oncoming Christmas winter. He shivered violently and glared at his friend from under hooded eye. "I know magic now," he threatened. "One flick of my magic stick and you will fly across the room."

The man laughed, grey eyes glittering with mirth. "It's called a _wand_, Harry."

"_Rise and shine, Pothead!_"

Harry sneezed violently in succession when the freezing wind hit his face. He sat up in his bed, bleary-eyed and confused when he registered Ron's hysterical laughs to his right. He tried unsuccessfully to hit his best friend as Ron slammed the window shut and kicked the rest of Harry's blanket to the floor. "Come on, we're going to be late for breakfast! Oh, and don't forget your essay!"

Their History of Magic essay: an entire two scrolls about troll migrations from the 15th to 16th century from the Middle East to inner Europe. Exciting stuff. Harry had written five paragraphs about the patriarchal troll Pamuk and the disintegration of the clans before rambling on about how stupid and ugly trolls were - considering his experience with one during Halloween - for the next four. At least he tried. Ron had just stolen Hermione's parchment and made a few changes.

It's been three months since Harry first entered Hogwarts and discovered a world he never knew existed. Flying broomsticks and friendly ghosts. Vanishing stairs and talking portraits. Centaurs, mermaids, goblins and trolls. They were all wonderfully new. The only thing that highly discomfited Harry was his newfound fame.

It boggled him to discover that everyone knew who he was. Everyone knew the story of the night his parents died and Voldemort defeated and it was unnerving because he himself did not know the full details of his past. He hadn't known his father was a Seeker in a game called Quidditch until Hermione had told him and only found out that his mother was a talented witch when Professor Flitwick made an offhanded comment. Harry wondered how much more of his past he was missing.

Harry stuffed his essay into the front pocket of his robes and hurried down after Ron. After three months, he knew more or less how to get around Hogwarts. But on his bad days, the changing stairs still got to him. Today was one such day. He scowled heavily when the stairs he was climbing down suddenly detached itself from the corridor leading to the Main Hall and swerved towards the second-floor classrooms.

"This is where a broom would come in handy," quipped Harry.

Ron, who had jumped off in time, suggested, "Maybe you should go ahead to class. I'll bring you some rolls."

Harry nodded and turned to go to the second floor. He was making his way to the History of Magic classroom when he spotted two large oafish-looking boys guffawing stupidly as their blond friend in the center performed a half-successful Levitating Charm on a Hufflepuff boy.

Poor Justin Finch-Fletchley bobbed and dipped in the air as Draco Malfoy struggled to keep him there. He obviously hadn't paid attention in Charms class because he kept flicking his wrist the wrong way.

The trio were so distracted by bullying Justin that none of them noticed Harry sneaking up on them from behind and sweeping Malfoy's foot from under him with a kick. Malfoy fell with a yelp of surprise, disengaging the charm and leaving Justin to the horrible reality of gravity and five feet of air under him.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_" yelled Harry before Justin hit the ground and safely lowered him on his feet. Justin quickly hid behind Harry, wiping his cheeks from when he'd teared out of fright.

"Just you wait, Malfoy! I'm going to tell Professor Flitwick about this!"

"Oh really?" said Malfoy, looking rather dangerous although he was rubbing the spot on his butt where he'd fallen. "Crabbe! Goyle!"

Justin eeped and turned tail before Malfoy's goons could beat him up. But they couldn't have reached for him even if they wanted to because Harry had casted Sticking Charms to their feet. The two boy snow had difficulty pulling their feet off the spot where they stood without removing their shoes.

Malfoy shot Harry the dirtiest look he could muster. "Potter!" he spat. "I should've known it was you sticking your nose where it isn't needed. You'll pay for that one!"

Harry had not intended to find an enemy in Malfoy, despite having turned down his hand of friendship months earlier. He just didn't like the way Malfoy held his nose up in the air all the time. But Malfoy had taken Harry's rejection as a personal affront and had given himself the role as Harry's rival. Unfortunately, much to Harry's surprise, he just couldn't muster up much contempt for his supposed arch-nemesis. No matter the insults or the unfriendly jibes or the bullying, Harry couldn't hate him. He didn't know why but every time he wanted to get angry at Malfoy, he felt a curious sense of guilt for being mad and then lose the will to be.

He vaguely remembered making a promise - _when? To whom?_- and getting mad at Malfoy felt like clashing directly with that promise.

"You're bonkers, mate," Ron had said when Harry tried explaining it to him. No doubt Malfoy had the same sentiments, judging by the way his eyes went wide and round when Harry extended a hand to help him to his feet.

Crabbe and Goyle tried their best to punch him from where they stood. It made quite a funny picture actually since none of their fists came close to connecting. It looked as if they were punching the air for no reason. Malfoy spitefully knocked aside Harry's outstretched arm and in a quick movement, snatched Harry's homework assignment out of his pocket and tore it into pieces.

Harry let out a soft cry of horror as his troll essay became scraps of parchment before his eyes. He reigned in the urge to punch Malfoy in the face and sighed resignedly. "How terribly grown-up of you," Harry commented drily.

"Shut up!" exclaimed Malfoy, flustered. "That was payback!"

Harry calmly collected the torn pieces of parchment and put them back in his pocket. He reckoned he could copy his essay on another piece of parchment in time for class without too much trouble. He walked to class, leaving Malfoy to his attempts of unSticking Crabbe and Goyle from the ground.

When Harry saw Malfoy enter the classroom ten minutes later, he did a double-take. Gryffindors had History of Magic lessons with Hufflepuffs. "What are you doing here?"

"None of your business," snapped Malfoy testily. He took the seat furthest away from Harry, which made Harry smile in spite of himself.

As more people started to enter, Harry found out that the Slytherins were having a replacement class with them, seeing as a good deal of them tried to boycott out of it last Thursday. Professor Binns, in a rare case of observation - seeing as he remained ignorant of the fact that half of his class fell asleep on a regular basis five minutes into his lecture - reported this to the Headmaster and had the Slytherins come sit in for today.

Ron and Hermione took the seats on either side of Harry, who gratefully accepted the bread rolls Ron slipped him under the table. "Did you see Crabbe and Goyle outside? Their feet are stuck to the ground. Can't move for the life of them!" said Ron with obvious delight.

To Harry's right, Hermione harrumphed with disapproval. "I think it's a mean trick to play on anyone. Sticking Charms usually on last for a few minutes but the ones on their feet are quite strong. How are they going to get to class for the rest of the day?"

"I did that to them," said Harry.

Hermione goggled at him and blushed a little. "Oh, er. Harry - you shouldn't use-"

"They were bullying someone."

"Oh," said Hermione again as Ron laughed uproariously.

"That's brilliant, Harry! I wonder if they'll still be there after class is over."

At the sound of Ron's laugh, Malfoy looked over his shoulder and threw Harry another dirty look. Harry couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. Without his bodyguards flanking his side, Draco Malfoy looked very lonely.

Professor Binns slid into the classroom through the blackboard and started speaking without much introduction. "Pass your essays to the front and turn your textbooks to page thirty-two. Today we will be discussing wizard genealogy."

From where he sat, Harry saw Malfoy perk up. This was the perfect topic for Malfoy to brag about. No doubt he could go on about all the illustrious wizards who were part of the Malfoy history. He wasn't the only one. Several other Slytherins from rich, Pureblood families puffed up their chests. Ron groaned, "Why did we have to have _this_ lesson with the Slytherins? I think their heads just became two sizes bigger."

Professor Binns started the lecture with notes on several notable Wizarding families in Europe, including Black, Crouch, Selwyn and Prince. "In fact, one of our faculty is a descendant of the Prince bloodline." A Slytherin girl asked curiously, "Who?" But Professor Binns either didn't hear or chose to ignore the question and continued on in the same soporific manner. "And of course, we have a few of you among here today who are descended of an old wizarding family.

Daphne Greengrass didn't even bother to mask her preening, much to the annoyance of Milicent Bulstrode, whose family was every bit as old as Greengrass' but chose not to say anything. Malfoy was smirking at anyone who bothered to glance at him. As it were, all the Gryffindors pointedly looked away from the Slytherins. Until Professor Binns spoke again, "Like Potter, for example."

Malfoy's expression turned sour enough to curdle milk. "The Potters may have once been an impeccable Pureblood family but obviously one of them messed up seeing as we somehow ended up with a Half-blooded Potter."

Harry sprung to his feet. He couldn't believe Malfoy would sink so low as to take a stab at his family. He seethed quietly, "What makes you think your family is so much better than mine, Malfoy?"

"Well for one, look at me... and look at _you_," sneered Malfoy.

"Why does it matter so much to you that my mother was Muggle-born? Your ancestor was a pirate. How is that better, huh?" said Harry.

Malfoy stood up in his own seat. "You take that back! You know nothing about my family!"

"Really? Scarepone Malfoi, youngest son of a French noble but he wasn't going to inherit anything so he became a pirate and settled in Britain," snapped Harry.

"You're lying!"

"Check the books!"

"Boys!" said Professor Binns in his loudest voice. "Settle down, the both of you! Mr. Malfoy, I'll ask you not to insult any families in my class and Mr. Potter, if you have any disagreements, deal them out more civilly. Although, I have to commend you on that bit of information. It is much believed that the Malfoys are indeed descended of a French pirate in the 17th-century but seeing as Lucius Malfoy refused access to his family books, it cannot be ascertained."

Here, Malfoy flushed red and Harry felt guilt climbing up his insides for putting him on the spot.

"But the two of you have more in common than you realise," continued Professor Binns. "The Malfoy family is related to the Black family through the union of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, while the Potters established their connected through the union of Charlus Potter and Dorea Black. So in that sense, the two of you of distantly related."

Harry stared at Malfoy in wonderment and was admittedly surprised when Malfoy's expression mirrored his. He had fully expected the blond to blanch or sneer or vehemently deny the connection. Instead, the young Malfoy frowned deeply and turned away, as if he has a lot to think about.

"And now, the Longbottoms as well..."

Harry didn't pay attention to the rest of the lecture. His mind was still reeling from the fact that one, he was descended from an old wizarding family (little old he was something of wizard royalty - who could imagine?) and two, he was related to _Malfoy_. Harry wondered if this was why he felt the odd obligation to be nice to him sometimes.

Ron patted his back sympathetically while Hermione furiously took notes. No doubt by the end of the day, Hermione would be able to list every detail about every single Potter who had ever lived. She did stop once to ask him, "How did you know that bit about the Malfoys being the progeny of a French pirate? Professor Binns said that theory hasn't even been entered into books."

Harry frowned in thought. "I don't really remember. I think someone once told me about it."

"Why would he think that you were interested in the history of Malfoys?" asked Ron in an incredulous tone.

"I don't know," said Harry honestly. He scratched his head and put his head on the table. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember where he had gleaned that piece of information.

**

* * *

**

After the Sticking Charm incident, Malfoy wouldn't leave Harry alone. Professor Flitwick had taken forty points from Slytherin after Justin told him what Malfoy did to him and had left the Sticking Charm on Crabbe and Goyle for an entire period to teach them a lesson in bullying. But instead of learning, their punishment only made them more furious at Harry.

Malfoy egged Harry on during their first flying lesson, bought Dungbombs off older students and pelted them at Harry whenever he got the chance, made loud comments about his skinny limbs and askew glances during breakfast and pulled pranks but pushed the blame on Harry whenever Filch came running about.

"That an annoying pain in the side you've gotten there, Harry," commented Fred Weasley during the Gryffindor's celebratory party after their Quidditch win over Slytherin.

"I have high hopes for him," said Harry solemnly. "One day, he'll grow up and stop being a git."

Fred and George laughed simultaneously.

Then, Christmas came and nearly everyone was going home for the holidays, including Malfoy, who announced how sorry he felt for those who had to stay at Hogwarts at the top of his voice during Potions. But the effect of his taunting was sorely ruined when he broke into a series of coughs due to the cold in the dungeons. Harry tossed a few cough drops onto his table when he passed it.

Ever since Hagrid had let slip about Nicholas Flamel and his involvement in the mysteries surrounding the third-floor corridor and the three-headed dog ("Seriously? _Fluffy_?" said Ron disbelievingly), Harry, Ron and Hermione have been racing to find out who he was. But Hermione had to return home for Christmas and with her lacking from their search team, Harry had little faith in finding out who Nicholas Flamel was before January.

Not for lack of trying, of course, He and Ron still spent a liberal amount of time in the library, taking down book titles he never would've touched otherwise. It was admittedly disturbing to read the section about himself in _Notable Magical Names of Our Time_.

At the far end of the library, the Restricted Section loomed tauntingly over them. To read books in that section, they needed a signed note from a professor, which was virtually impossible, but the fact that they weren't allowed to touch those books reinforced Harry's belief that Nicholas Flamel's name was hidden amongst those dusty tomes.

That was why his father's Invisibility Cloak was the best Christmas present he'd ever gotten. Or so Harry thought, until he used the Cloak to grab one of those Restricted books only to have that book shriek like a Banshee at having been opened. He dropped the book, panicked, and fled from the library. In his hurry, he nearly ran into Filch and Snape, who had been doing rounds, and stumbled into an empty classroom.

Harry panted heavily with his back against the door and slipped off the cloak. He was sweating profusely under its cover. He turned around to survey the classroom and perhaps, get a bearing on where he was. In his excitement, he hadn't watched where he was going. He only hoped he could find his way back to Gryffindor Tower. He was so distracted he nearly missed the tall mirror that had been set against the wall amidst the chairs and desks piled up together. It was as high as the ceiling with clawed feet and an inscription on the top of its gold frame.

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.

Gibberish. Harry stood before the mirror, silently speculating who could've owned such a large, ornate mirror when he looked into his reflection and nearly screamed his head off. There were people standing behind him!

Harry snapped around but saw no one in the space behind him. He looked back into the mirror and, again, saw about ten people standing behind him. A woman with dark red hair and green eyes to his left and a skinny man with disheveled hair and round spectacles to his right. The woman was crying through her smile. Harry felt like doing the same when he realised what he was looking at.

"Mum? Dad?" he whispered against the cool glass.

As he stared further into the mirror at the people standing behind his parents, behind him, he spotted people who had the same noses, the same chin, even the same knobby knees. This was his family, the one Professor Binns had been talking about in class the other day. Not only the Potters, but some people from his mother's side as well since none of the previous Potters could possibly have Lily Evans' brilliant green eyes.

Harry pressed his cheek against the mirror, wishing he could fall right in and be with them. He wanted so much to talk to them, ask them what they were like, if they were proud of him, if they loved him despite his skinny limbs and poor aptitude for Potions. Harry conjured what his father might've sounded like in his head and imagined James Potter speaking back at him, "_I was never really that good at Potions either!_"

Harry smiled stupidly at himself and returned to staring into the mirror when he noticed a shadowy figure standing behind all the Potters and Evanses. Harry squinted. The figure in the back started to take a clearer shape the longer Harry concentrated on him until at last, he was as solid as James and Lily. He was a very handsome man with white-blond hair and stone grey eyes. His features were all sharp and angular, but his warm smile lent a warmth that bled out all intimidation.

Harry gasped. The man was a dead ringer for Draco Malfoy, except much older. Harry pressed so close against the mirror his nose began to hurt. "Malfoy?" he breathed. "Malfoy, is that you?" The blond man's smile changed a bit. It looked sadder somehow. "What are you doing in there?"

But like the rest of the figures in the mirror, the man didn't speak. Harry returned his gaze to his parents guiltily. "I'll come back," he promised, and left for the Tower.

**

* * *

**

The next night, Harry brought Ron because there was no way he could experience something like this without telling his best friend. It was a little harder to find the empty classroom since he hadn't been watching where he was going yesterday. But he found it in the end, but upon looking in the mirror, Harry noticed that something was different.

His parents were still there. They stood right behind him, beaming at his presence. So was the blond man who had been standing in the far back yesterday, but today, he was standing somewhere in the third row, about a foot behind his parents. How did he get so close? No one else had changed their positions. Harry stared curiously at him, taking a step back in surprise when the blond man winked back at him.

"What is it?" asked Ron.

"Here," said Harry distractedly. "Here, come see my family. Just not ... not the blond one though. I'm not sure who he is."

Ron looked at the mirror. "What are you talking about, Harry? I can only see myself." Ron's eyebrows jumped. "Wow, that - uh - that's just me, Harry. Me holding the Quidditch Cup and wearing a Head Boy badge, and - Harry, what is this mirror?"

"I don't know," said Harry distantly. They had to leave the room when Mrs Norris came stalking around, her luminous eyes gleaming darkly. Harry threw a final glance at the mirror behind him. His parents watched him go sadly. The blond man was standing right behind them now, waving goodbye.

**

* * *

**

On the third night, Harry found himself looking at the mirror in dismay. His parents were still there. The Potters and Evans with whom Harry shared several physical similarities were still present. But they were all _behind_ the man who looked like the older version of Draco Malfoy. The blond-haired, grey-eyed man now beamed at him face to face and Harry wanted to ask him to _clear off, whoever you are!_ because he wanted time with his parents, but at the same time he didn't.

He loved this man too, a stranger though he was. Harry couldn't explain why but he felt connected to him, as if he was meant to love this man ... or had loved him. Harry couldn't really tell. Harry put his fingers on the mirror where the reflection of the man's shoulder was. "Who are you?"

"So - back again, Harry?"

Harry whirled around to see Dumbledore sitting on one of the desks with a gentle smile that assuaged Harry's fears of getting a month's detention. Dumbledore slid off the desk and walked up to what he called the Mirror of Erised. Harry felt compelled to ask the same question Ron had asked him last night. "What _is_ this mirror?"

"The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?

Harry thought for a while. "It shows us what we want ... whatever we want ..."

"Yes and no. It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them."

Harry placed a hand on the mirror. So the reflection was nothing but his desire. No form of truth or possibility to them. But still, the blond man remained a mystery. How could Harry desire a man he did not know? Where did he add up in all of this? But Harry chose not to tell the headmaster about the mysterious blond stranger. He had intruded on Dumbledore's kindness enough. But there was one question he wanted to ask him: "What do you see when you look in the mirror, professor?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks. One can never have enough socks. Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

It occurred to Harry later that night that Dumbledore had not been entirely truthful when answering his question. But then, it had been quite a personal question. Nevertheless, Harry sent Hedwig to Hermione in the morning, requesting that she help him get a pair of woolen socks, and deposited them in a parcel in front of the Headmaster's office when Hermione came back from the holidays with them.

**

* * *

**

The final exams arrived far too quickly in the first-years' opinion. One minute, they were eating leftover turkey from the Christmas feast and the next, they were cramming and revising on how to turn mice into snuff boxes. Percy Weasley smiled when he saw the three of them studying up for Potions. "A tad ironic, isn't it? Trying not to forget how to make a Forgetfulness Potion."

"Har har," said Ron moodily, shooing his brother away.

But once ten o'clock struck and Hermione was still trying to go over the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct with them for History of Magic, Harry retreated to the dorm. He's got so many facts and things to remember swirling in his head it was hard to place one thought in front of the other. Then again, he should be thankful for having found such a studious friend in Hermione. He wouldn't have been able to pay attention in his revision otherwise.

His nightmares weren't going away. They were becoming worse. Every night, Harry saw the same hooded figure from the Forbidden Forest, leaning over the dead unicorn, silver blood dripping from its hood. Only now in his dreams, the figure was bleeding everywhere. Blood stained its dark cloak and it was reaching out to Harry and whenever it tried to say Harry's name in that hoarse, raspy voice, Harry's head exploded with pain.

Harry rubbed the scar on his forehead, feeling the bumps and rises on his skin. _That ain't no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh_, was what Hagrid had told him the night he found out he was a wizard. So he was cursed. For how long? For his entire life?

He closed his eyes, willing all those troubling thoughts to go away. He'd had enough excitement these past weeks, what with discovering a baby dragon in Hagrid's hut, trying to smuggle it out of Hogwarts and losing Gryffindor 150 points when he was caught. _Think about something good that happened_. _A good memory._

Leaving the Dursleys. Harry smiled as he remembered how happy he felt at not having to attend Stonewall High, but instead was going to a magical school, the same one his parents had gone to. Leaving London on Platform Three-Quarters. The first time he got on a broom. The euphoria that swept over him when he won the Quidditch game for Gryffindor. Finally getting to see what his family looked like in the Mirror of Erised. The mysterious blond stranger who -

Harry sat up in his bed in a rush. "_It's you!_" Harry was thankful nobody else was in the dorm. Otherwise, they might've suspected him of being a nutter and avoid him even more. Harry couldn't believe he hadn't pieced it together before! The blond Malfoy lookalike in the mirror was the same man who had waved at him from the platform at King's Cross the day he left for Hogwarts!

Harry remembered now. He was wearing a cloak and he had been standing alone. But he had waved to Harry. Why? Who was he? Did he live in Muggle London? Why did he show up in the Mirror of Erised if Harry had only seen him once, so briefly that Harry barely remembered him?

Great, groaned Harry. More questions. He sunk back down and put a pillow over his head. "Shut up, brain!"

**

* * *

**

News spread like wildfire around Hogwarts, especially when it concerned one Harry Potter, the Boy-Who Lived. When Gryffindor lost 150 points overnight, people talked and by noontime the same day, everyone knew that Harry and his friends had tried to smuggle a dragon out of Hogwarts. The teachers discredited the story, of course, but the student body believed it, even the Gryffindors, who now hated their hero. It was no different this time.

When Harry didn't show up for breakfast the day after exams along with his two best friends and Professor Quirrell, the rumour mill ran wild. "They left," said Neville miserably from the Gryffindor table. "I tried to stop them from going out at night Hermione did a Body-Bind on me."

At that moment, Ron and Hermione entered, looking rather worse for wear. Ron was walking unsteadily, as if something had hit him hard on the head and both of them sported tired shadows under their eyes. "I already told you I was sorry, Neville," said Hermione plaintively, taking a seat. "Does it still hurt, Ron?"

"Not so much," Ron murmured, sitting next to her. "That white queen really didn't hold anything back."

"What happened?" asked Dean. "Where's Harry?"

"I thought you still weren't speaking to us," said Ron loftily. "Considering how evil we are for losing all those House points."

"Oh, get over it. Because of the three of you, Slytherin's going to end up placing first for the House Cup this year," said Seamus. He yelped when he received a sharp kick to his leg but when he demanded who did it, everyone looked away, except Hermione, who was calmly eating her muffin.

Fred and George joined them at the table, heads looking left and right. "Any of you know what happened to Professor Quirrell?" asked George. "We found this new enchantment we want to try on his turban but we can't see him anywhere," said Fred.

"He's dead," said Ron through a mouthful of crumpet.

The twins looked at Ron curiously. "How really? And how did he die?"

"Harry killed him - ow!" Ron rubbed his sore foot and glared at Hermione. "What! I was just telling them the truth!"

"Harry did _not_ kill Professor Quirrell. And Professor Dumbledore says we're not supposed to tell anyone," she added in a low voice, but it was for naught. The twins heard her. Their eyes bugged comically.

"Blimey, you're serious?"

"What did Quirrell ever do to Harry?"

Before breakfast was over, everyone knew the story, or at least some variation of the story; none of which were entirely accurate. The faces at the Slytherin table were ashen, especially Malfoy. "He's probably scared because the guy he's been picking on all year turned out to be strong enough to kill a professor," laughed Dean.

"For the last time, Harry did _not_ kill Professor Quirrell!" said Hermione heatedly.

"Hermione, calm down," said Ron.

"How can I? Their making fun of the entire thing! They don't care that Harry nearly died trying to save the Stone from Quirrell or that now he won't even wake up!" Hermione wiped her eyes and stormed away from the table. Ron frowned concernedly and rushed after her, leaving the Gryffindor table dumfounded in his wake.

**

* * *

**

It was a Snitch. Harry looked down at the tiny golden ball in his hand, its wings beating weakly against his skin. The roar of cheers and applause that followed nearly deafened his ears. Harry felt a huge ball of happiness growing in his chest; so huge he thought he was going to explode. He had never been cheered on like this before; never felt such overwhelming support from so many people.

If only _he _was here to share his joy. If only his face was amongst the crowd, beaming with pride, his hands clapping for all their worth, Harry was sure it would've boosted his mood a million times over. After all, he was the one who had introduced flying brooms to Harry.

...wait, that wasn't right.

Harry didn't know about flying brooms until he entered Hogwarts. No wait, he'd somehow known that those brooms were meant for flying. Did he dream it all up? Just like that flying motorbike?

"_Good afternoon, Harry_."

Harry opened his eyes for the first time in three days and winced at the sunlight streaming in through the windows of the hospital wing. He blinked desperately, willing his world into focus. He saw the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore and struggled to sit up. "Sir? What happened to Quirrell? And the Stone?"

Dumbledore smiled kindly and explained that - no, Professor Quirrell, who had played host to Voldemort's parasite, had not managed to get the Philosopher's Stone. "I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say."

Harry sunk back into his pillow with relief. That was when he noticed the mountainous pile of candy on his bedside table. "Uh..."

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows."

Harry smiled. He didn't care if the whole school knew. The important thing was that Voldemort wasn't back. His magical new world and friends were not in danger. He fell back into sleep after Dumbledore left, a smile on his face, and dreaming of grey eyes and a mirthful laugh.

**

* * *

**

Privet Drive felt more empty than when he had left it last year. Harry supposed it was because after all the excitement he'd experienced at Hogwarts, Privet Drive just felt like a cage to come back to. As Vernon pulled up to Number Four, Harry saw Mrs. Figg standing in her garden and playing with her cats. There was a cherry red Ferrari sitting in her driveway. Harry stared.

"Um, nice car, Mrs. Figg," he called out.

If Vernon slammed the door of his car extra hard, Harry pretended not to notice. "Still can't see why he chose to leave _you_ the car. I mean, you barely knew him, isn't that right, madam?"

"I didn't know him at all," said the old woman with a curiously deep frown.

"Well, he's gone now and good riddance."

Harry had no idea who they were talking about until Dudley came running out, a mean grin on his face. "Guess what? Guess what?"

"You put on weight?" said Harry, running a wary eye over his cousin.

But that didn't deter Dudley at all. "That friend of yours moved out while you were at school!"

"Who?"

"That man who lived in Number Eight! That Malfoy person!" said Dudley delightedly.

Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "What?" How did Dudley know that name?

But Dudley mistook his bewilderment for disbelief. "Go and see for yourself! That house is empty now. No more peacocks running on the front lawn," he said with obvious glee.

Harry continued to stare at Dudley with wide eyes as his cousin ran back into the house, thinking that he had caused Harry some form of pain. But Harry was more confused than anything. Maybe Dudley had taken one too many hits to the head with the Smeltings stick. Harry shrugged and heaved his trunk out of the boot of the car. He was about to drag his things back into the house that had spawned ten years of bad memories when Mrs. Figg tugged him back and pushed something into his hand. "I don't know what happened last year, Potter, but I don't like it. I found this on my table this morning. It's addressed to you."

"Then why was it on your table?" asked Harry.

"Exactly." The cat lady hobbled back to her house with a dissatisfied look on her face.

Harry looked at the object she had forced into his hand. It was an envelope with his name on the front and a wax seal on the flap. That, if anything, told Harry that his sender was a wizard. The wax seal was broken, which probably meant Mrs. Figg had opened the envelope to inspect its contents. Harry felt a surge of annoyance for the old lady. What right did she have going through his things even if she did find it on her table? Harry lifted the flap and looked inside. There was no letter, only a small silver key. A _Gringotts _key.

What in the world?

* * *

_To be continued...  
_

**Next chapter: Discovering Draco**


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